To Be or Not to Be
by Balfabulous
Summary: *Diamonds for Tears redo* "So like Lyanna..." The words had dogged Elyanna's steps from the moment she had been born up until she had made the conscious choice to cast of any resemblance to her aunt. Now at fourteen years of age she is sent to ward at the Red Keep in King's Landing under the care of the man who loved her aunt the most, and the woman who hates her to this day.
1. Chapter 01: Introducing Elyanna

**A/N: Here it is, the new Diamonds for Tears. Newly titled and newly characterised. For new readers, welcome! I hope you enjoy :D For old ones, I hope you aren't too disconcerted by the multitude of changes.  
For all of you to know the faceclaim has also changed for Elyanna. I'll link it on my page, but FF seems to be mucking with that… so for those who are curious I have drawn heavily on the looks of actress Kaya Scodelario.  
P.S. Thank LadyBritish for this story, her review on the draft inspired the redo!**

Introducing Elyanna

It had been a long labour and Catelyn Stark was exhausted. Her throat felt raw from her screams and her body ached from the strain of bringing her babies into the world. Their infant cries echoing through the room covered up her tired pants. She had been stunned when, after feeling the first babe leave her, the Maester tending her told her it was not yet over. A part of her had wept at the thought of longer pains but another part, a stronger part, had felt joy at the thought of being given two blessings in this time of war.

"Let me see them." She croaked, trying to push herself up into a sitting position. "Let me see my babes."

Her sister and the Septa rushed to her side, helping move her up to lean upon the headboard.

"You should rest, sister." Lysa said, soothing her own hand which still bore the white marks of blood loss where Cat had gripped it tight during the most painful pushes. "It has been a long day."

"My babes." Cat insisted firmly.

"Here." The Maester handed her a tiny thing wrapped in swaddling. "This is the boy, he came first into the world." He turned and accepted another squalling bundle from the Septa. "And this is your daughter."

Cat received the babes in the crook of each arm. Their red little faces lessened in wrinkles as their crying began to abate. They turned into her chest, little hands reaching for her damp hair.

"My babies, my precious ones." She held them as close to her as she could. "I will let no harm come to you."

Both babes stared up at her with bright blue eyes and she felt tears begin to form at the corners of her own. They were so beautiful, so perfect, and they had come from her. The boy was rounder in the face than the girl, but other than that the babes resembled each other greatly.

As she pressed a kiss to both their foreheads she wondered what they would grow up to look like and be. Would they take more after Eddard or her? Would they have the Stark wolf-blood or not? Would they believe in his Gods or hers?

A thousand more questions spiralled through her head, all in the instant it took to press those kisses to her children.

 **/*0*/**

Ned was tired, so tired. He felt as if the whole world rode on his shoulders, trying to crush him down into the dirt. The war had been long, hard, and painful in so many ways. He knew he felt the way all Kingdoms did at the moment, utterly spent.

And it was not just the memories of the long months spent fighting that weighted him down as he rode through Riverrun to greet the wife he had spent only a fortnight with before joining the fight. His mind stretched back to the rear of his party, where the nursemaid rode, the little bundle in her arms the heaviest thing in Ned's world.

Guilt. Greasy, slick, slimy guilt filled his heart.

No wife deserved this from her returning husband. It shamed him to place this burden on her so early into their lives together. The black mark upon his honour was a keener wound than any he had suffered in the battles he had lived through.

 _Promise me, Ned._

The last wish of the boy's mother, one that he would honour and respect until his dying breath. He would carry this burden for her, in her memory, and its pain was the price of him having failed her.

The household of Riverrun was assumed in the courtyard to greet their own forces as well as the Northmen. Auburn Tully hair stood out amidst the sea of mostly dark heads, and Ned picked his wife out in a moment.

Catelyn Tully, now Catelyn Stark, the woman meant for his brother. She was tall, proud and beautiful, Ned admired her deeply. Did he love her? No, no he did not. Would he come to love her? Yes, yes he rather thought he would.

As he drew nearer he saw that she held two cloth wrapped bundles in each arm, cradled gently. His breath caught in his throat. Could it be? They had only had two weeks… could it truly be? He saw that it was the closer he came, two tiny faces peeked out above their wrappings, blinking curiously at the world around them.

The rest of the greeting party might as well have been invisible and silent for all he noticed. Ned dismounted right before his wife and cupped her face in his gloved hands.

"Cat, truly?" He whispered, wanting to hear her say it even though his eyes told him.

"This is your son, Robb, for your friend." She handed him the babe from her left arm. "And this is your daughter, Elyanna, for your sister."

"Two?" Ned looked between the children, a wondrous laugh escaping his lips and happy tears fled his eyes. "Two? We are blessed."

 **/*0*/**

"Take that!"

"Ow! Ellie! That hurt!" Robb rubbed his head irritably. "I thought we agreed no head hitting!"

Elyanna drew rein on her pony and stuck her tongue out at her two-minutes-older brother. "I lied!"

Robb let out a roar of frustration and spurred his own pony into a chase, waving his own stick in the air as he charged his sister. Elyanna let out a raucous laugh, tossing her hair as if it was a horse's mane, outstripping her brother as they galloped the plains surrounding Winterfell.

They were soon joined by their half-brother Jon and Ned's ward Theon, who until then had been having their own jousting match.

Ned chuckled as he watched the children play, reminding him so much of his own childhood with his siblings.

"Ned, they should be more careful." Cat chided from his left.

"They'll be fine, Cat. They ride like this and worse most days." He assured, holding a squirming Arya still in his lap. She gazed longingly to where her siblings raced, and Ned feared he had another firebrand in the family.

"They are only eight! They could break their necks!" Cat jiggled Bran on her knee, the boy having been roused by her raised voice. "I should never have agreed to give them ponies."

Ned put an arm around her and pressed a kiss into her hair. "They would have bullied them out of the horsemaster and be doing the same behind your back, at least you can keep an eye on them."

"Mother, I'm cold." Little Sansa was huddled beneath her thick cloak. "Can we go back to the castle?"

Cat sidled a glance at Ned, a hopeful smile on her face, but he shook his head.

"You go on, my love." He urged. "Take Sansa and Arya with you, I'll sit with Bran."

Cat wouldn't be able to take all three children back. Sansa ridden out on a small pony from the stables, while Bran and Arya had been carried before their parents who rode their own horses.

"No!" Arya folded her tiny arms and glared up at her father. "I stay!"

"You'll go with your mother." Ned said firmly. "I will follow along soon, but I would like to stay out a little longer."

"We can go get lemon cakes." Sansa offered her hand to her little sister, eager to speed along the process of heading home.

"Cake?"

Arya brightened and took Sansa's hand. Ned and Cat shared a look of relief as they rose from the blanket spread on the ground, getting Arya to agree to something could take anything from a minute to an hour at times. Ned took Bran from his wife so that Cat could lift their youngest daughter into the front of her saddle, before using a log for a mounting block and lifting herself up behind. Ned held his son close as he knelt on the ground, allowing Sansa to use his knee to reach her mount.

After pressing a kiss to Cat's hand, he and Bran were waving at the backs of their retreating family. Ned turned, settling back on the blanket, Bran kept between his knees. The children had all dropped their sticks and were lined up, all of them stretching their necks to make sure no one's horse was ahead of the others. He watched as Robb raised an arm, then chopped it down, signalling the race to begin.

Almost instantly the Starks outstripped Theon. The Iron Islander had been living at Winterfell for two years and the horsemanship he had learnt in that time was no match for the Starks who had ridden since they could walk. For a long while as they galloped towards him the Starks were neck and neck, urging their ponies on to greater speeds. Then, slowly, Jon and Elyanna began to peel away from Robb. Almost at the same time Elyanna began to overtake Jon, soon riding in the lead by the length of her pony, then more.

She was the first to draw reign beside him, laughing joyously as she turned in the saddle to watch her brothers and friend come closer. The boys were still locked in a fierce battle for second place, Robb and Jon crossing the line so close together the fight about who had won would go on for days yet.

As Ned looked up at his eldest girl his vision blurred. For a moment, just a moment, it was Lyanna up on that pony. Laughing as she won another race, the daring glint of challenge still in her eye. He blinked and she was gone, Elyanna remained, a mirror expression on her face.

 **/*0*/**

"So much like her Aunt Lyanna…"

Elyanna dropped her wooden blade as if it was a hot brand. Tears stung her eyes and she raced from the practice grounds. Her brothers called after her and she ignored them, racing blind through the castle she knew by heart until she reached the godswood. There she raced onwards until she collapsed on the roots of the heart-tree and wept openly.

 _So like Lyanna…_

She had heard those words all ten years of her life. They shadowed her every step, her every turn. She had heard them in tones of praise, tones of disparity, tones of sadness, she had heard them in every tone under the sun. It seemed that all anyone ever said was how much she was like Aunt Lyanna! She was sick of it! Sick!

It happened with everything she did. If she ran instead of walking. If she put a stitch wrong, which was always. The way she rode her horse. The way she preferred to play with her brothers over the other girls in Winterfell. The way she had forced her father to make her a wooden sword so she could play at being a knight.

It was said by maids, by Maester Luwin, by Rodrik Cassel, by Old Nan, by the cook, the horsemaster, by her own father! None of her other siblings were ever compared so to a relative! Jon and Arya were compared to her father in looks, the same way Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon were compared to their mother, but their personalities were their own.

She looked down into the pond, no wind stirred its surface, and it acted as a mirror for her. She had the long face, dark hair, and grey eyes of the Stark family. Her pale cheeks were red with the exertion of the practice yard and her crying. Tear streaks made clear lines through the patches of dirt spotting her face.

She put her hands into the water and scooped up handful after handful to wash her face. As she dried off using the sleeves of her dress the water stilled once more, and she took another glance.

New dirt smeared her face, and she realised the sleeves of her gown were the cause. Her eyes were still red rimmed, but they stared at her reflection long and hard. From her view this was her face. Her slightly crooked nose from an overzealous tumble with Robb, her freckles from time spent in the rare Northern sun whenever it showed itself, her curling hair around her long face and wideset eyes, her lips pressed into a firm line. It was _her_ face. The face she had been born with, the face she would always have.

That is what she saw when she looked upon herself, but not what the rest of the world saw. They saw another girl from a time gone past. They saw wild Lyanna Stark, only daughter of Lord Rickard, known for her fiery spirit and wild ways. Nothing Elyanna did seemed to be her own. All her actions belonged to her Aunt, people saw her again in everything she did and didn't do. Her face was a memory of Lyanna's features, reminding the world what they lost.

She didn't want to be another person. She wanted to be _her_.

"I am not Lyanna." She whispered to her reflection.

"I am not Lyanna." She repeated fiercely.

Elyanna pushed herself to her feet and walked on shaky legs from the godswood. She went back to the practice yard, ignored the calls of others, and picked her toy sword up from where it had been moved out of the way. She walked silently through the halls of her home until she entered her room. There, she bolted the outside world out and stoked the fire servants had left burning low so the room would remain warm.

She pulled the grimy dress over her head and discarded it into the flames, her mother would have a fit later. Pouring water into the basin from the pewter ewer on her nightstand, she proceeded to wash her face more thoroughly than she ever had. She dried it so hard on the small face cloth that her skin felt rubbed raw, but clean.

Next she pulled a new dress from her wardrobe, one without divided skirts for free movement. She stepped into it and began the long process of doing up the laces with her hands doubled behind her back. These dresses always took longer to get into than her usual garb. When she was sealed into the gown she set her hair to rights. Fighting it with her brush until she had it as neat as she could, then pulling the front of it back in a style copying her mother's.

She went to her bed and picked up the sword she had placed there. She held it reverently, running her hands over the smooth wood of the blade, shifting her grip on the hilt polished by the many times she had held it. It even weighed as much as a proper sword should. Elyanna hefted it, wanting to do another round of thrusts and parries, but the echo sounded in her brain.

 _So like Lyanna…_

With a cry of rage Elyanna threw her toy into the fire. She watched with the strangest sense of detachment as it lay there for some moments, still perfect in form, before the flames began to lick along its length. In just a few minutes the blade was alight, and in a few minutes more it was indistinguishable from the other pieces of wood burning in the hearth.

She looked down at the hands that had just thrown away one of her most treasured possessions. They were shaking. Elyanna felt herself tremble as she stepped in front of the mirror positioned at her vanity. The girl was someone she had only seen at formal occasions. Clean and neat, almost a foreign look to her. Foreign also was the expression on her face.

She looked lost.

She turned resolutely from the mirror. She wasn't lost, she was searching. Crossing to the corner where she had thrown her embroidery hoop that morning she retrieved the length of cloth and the hoop it was attached to. Her shaking hands pulled the long, dangling, thread until she held the needle between her fingers.

Elyanna sat down in the padded chair by her fire and studied the lopsided work before. It was supposed to be a rose, at least, she thought that was what she had intended it to be… She pushed the needle down through the cloth, stabbing her fingertip in the process. She hissed in pain, and red seeped through the fabric, but she continued her stitching. With every stitch she made she whispered harshly to herself.

"I am not Lyanna. I am not Lyanna."

She pricked her fingers so many times that afternoon, the blood turned the winter rose she had stitched red.

 **P.P.S. New readers: Don't read the old fic. Ignore my old fanfics, please. I have another GoT one I'm proud of called 'Hear Me Roar in Winter', other than that let them die, please. I'd remove them but I know there are people who enjoy them, and just because I no longer do (and shudder at my 15/16 year old self) doesn't mean they can't!**

 **Anywho, hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Chapter 02: Free

Inn-at-the-Crossroads

 _295AL_

Old Nan gently lowered the lid of the final chest, and a pair of servants picked it up almost as soon as her hand withdrew, it disappeared down the corridors to join its brethren in the carriage that would transport Elyanna south. And so she was left standing in her empty room, wardrobes gaping and bare, it was as if she had never been here.

"You must be sad to leave this place." Said Old Nan, giving a fond look around the room herself. "This room must hold many cherished memories for you."

How could she tell her old nursemaid that leaving Winterfell and her family actually made her feel just a little happy? That leaving the North behind felt like an escape and a fresh start to her? It would break her family if she admitted that to them, but she didn't want to lie either, so she said nothing.

"Ah, it is still sad to see you so quiet." Old Nan took Elyanna's chin in her wrinkled hand and titled it up so their eyes locked. "You had so much fire as a wee thing, reminded me of my days looking after Lyanna. You take care, dear girl, and don't you forget where your real home is. You're a Stark, and you'll always have Winterfell for home."

"Home is in the heart, not the blood." Elyanna blurted out.

"And what do you mean by that, my girl?" Old Nan quirked a single brow.

"I…" Elyanna pulled her chin out of the old woman's eyes, breaking their stare, she didn't pick up her trailed off sentence.

"Ah, my girl." Old Nan pulled her into a strong hug for so frail looking a woman. "I hope you find your way back."

Old Nan was non-specific as to where, and Elyanna didn't want to inquire. She left their conversation there, turning away and beginning to make her last way through the stone corridors of her childhood home. She could hear Old Nan's soft footsteps behind her, but didn't pause to wait, Old Nan hated it when people treated her as a slow old woman. She passed no one on her walk, they were all waiting outside.

This gave her a moment to pause, press a hand and lay her cheek against the cool grey walls, hoping she would find some solace there as she had when she was little. Perhaps she had left it too late, for the walls didn't welcome her as they once did. She felt pushed away, almost as if they were saying, ' _you don't want us, so we don't want you.'_

She felt like a stranger in her own home, as if Winterfell itself couldn't fathom who she was. Walking out of the castle always felt like a bubble was being pricked and she was being released, but never truly set free. Everywhere in the North she had to look over her shoulder to make sure the ghost of a dead girl wasn't trailing in her wake.

The Winterfell household was assembled in the courtyard to bid her farewell. It was rare to see them all turned out so, and they would be doing it again very soon to welcome Princess Myrcella to the castle. Elyanna would be swapping places with the Princess, their fathers having agreed that fostering would be a good idea. She didn't know how long she would remain in the capital for, only that part of her felt glad to be escaping the North.

Another part felt guilty at that thought, but it didn't make it any less true.

She wondered what it must be like for the Princess. She was five years Elyanna's junior, so was leaving home harder? Did she want to go or was she crying? Was she excited or scared? Would she like the North? Would she be more at home here? Elyanna would never know, they probably wouldn't see each other again until they switched back, if that came to pass.

All this went through her head as she walked through the tunnel people made for her as she passed. Soft whispers of well wishes echoed around her, but how many were meant? She hadn't been close to anyone for years, they all found her strange, she suspected their words were hollow respect. Many had been with the house for years, and she caught a few whispers of ' _so like Lyanna…'_ That sparked a fury in her that she swiftly quelled, sadness filled its place. Did they even know who was leaving?

Her family stood at the forefront of the crowd, just meters away from the carriage that would take their eldest girl away from them. Her father was the first to step out of the line and wrap her in a close embrace.

"Ah this reminds me of when I left Lyanna to go to the Eyrie, but this time I am the one being left behind."

 _Yes, ME_. Elyanna wanted to shout. _Me, your daughter. Not your sister._

But she blocked that outburst, squashing it down with the others she had bottled up over the years. Not showing her temper didn't mean she had lost it, she just couldn't afford to let it out. It would fade, any muscle you don't use grows weaker with time, and one day she wouldn't have to fight it.

At least that's what she prayed for.

"Robert will make you welcome and see you are well cared for, you'll have every comfort you could desire." A deep sigh left his lungs. "I am so sad to part with you, dear heart."

Elyanna found herself bringing her arms around her father tightly. They had been so close in her youth, she remembered his deep, bellowing, laughter. Playing games with him, learning things, following his footsteps. But then the fear came over her. The fear that it wasn't her he was laughing with, it wasn't her he was teaching, it was his sister. They had not been so close since then, Elyanna was too afraid he didn't love her for herself, she didn't want that.

She knew this had saddened him, and so she held onto him for a few moments more. She had nothing to say, she would miss him, and the hug told him that. But she was afraid that if she spoke her true thoughts would spill out, and that would break him.

Next came her mother, who knew from years of experience that an embrace between them would only turn Elyanna rigid, she settled for gently resting a hand against Elyanna's cheek.

"Stay safe, Elyanna. I wish I could keep you here with me, but my sister will take care of you, I am comforted by the knowledge you still have family with you."

Holding their mother's free hand was three year old Rickon, the baby who had known nothing but the Elyanna who stood here today, who was too young to fully understand what was happening today. He broke free of his mother's hand to wrap his arms around Elyanna's legs.

"Don't go." His little voice was muffled by her skirts.

Elyanna pressed a soft kiss against his curls, before disentangling him and passing him back to their mother.

Beside Rickon stood Sansa, the ten year old already gaining on Elyanna in height. The two elder girls had spent more time together in the last years, Elyanna trying to emulate Sansa's ladylike behaviour, a little jealous of how easily it came to her little sister. But Sansa never picked up on that, she loved them spending time together.

She had found her own jealousy though, quite the tantrum had been thrown when it was revealed that Elyanna would be going south. Sansa had grand dreams of nights and ladies, true love and bard's tales. Despite her youth, Sansa longed for those things and despaired at her chances of finding them here in the North.

But she had eventually gotten over it, and now embraced Elyanna, their near even height allowing her to whisper in Elyanna's ear.

"Find a handsome knight for me."

Elyanna shook her head softly at her sister's request, but the small smile on her face let Sansa know it was only mock despair.

The next one was harder. As soon as Elyanna moved down the line Arya crossed her arms and turned away from her eldest sister, a scowl on her little face. Things between them hadn't been the same since Elyanna had stopped playing with her. After several months of persistence Arya had simply given up and started ignoring her now 'boring' sister.

Of the three Stark girls, Sansa was the only one to have not inherited the Stark look. Both Elyanna and Arya shared the same hair, eyes, and shape of face; in fact, people had also often commented how both of them resembled a young Lyanna. But somehow Arya had dodged the whispers. She was the one who continued to act on her wolf-blood, but she did not suffer the everyday comparison to a ghost, the memory of Lyanna had not been so fresh at the time of Arya's birth. Elyanna had never ceased to envy her that.

"Arya, say goodbye to your sister." Their mother urged gently.

That only set the little girl's face even harder. In spite of the tear that slipped down her cheek, Arya refused to turn to Elyanna and bid her farewell. So Elyanna moved on down the line and summoned a smile for her brother Bran. He was trying to stand tall and stay strong, but his chin was quivering from the effort of holding in his tears. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, but that only served to snap his resolve and he tried to muffle his sobs by burying his face against her.

"I'll come back." She said softly, stroking his hair as she had always done, the first words she'd spoken since entering the courtyard.

"Promise?" he sniffled, tilting his head up to look at her, his young eyes serious.

"I promise."

She was unsure as to whether or not she was lying to her little brother, but her words were enough to sooth him into releasing her so that she could say farewell to her twin.

Ah, Robb. The person who had been at her side for their entire life, the one she needed no words to communicate with. His blue eyes were hard and direct in the gaze they levelled at her, things had been more serious with them over the last few years, and Elyanna was used to the feeling of frustration he often felt around her. He hated that she wouldn't open up to him when he so clearly knew something was wrong, and every time they fought about it hurt the both of them.

But that didn't stop him from pulling her against his chest now, or her arms from wrapping around him instantly, pressing her face against him and breathing his familiar scent.

"Say something, Elyanna." He whispered fiercely into her hair. "Fight, do something, you don't belong down there."

Her sweet twin. For all their understanding he truly didn't know how she felt on the matter of belonging.

She rested a hand against the cheek that had changed from a rounded boy's to a strong man's. She would miss his presence, but she knew that out of all her family she would always know how he was, and that thought comforted her.

Moving on from him, last as always, was Jon.

Half-brother by blood, fully brother in heart. She couldn't count the number of times she had nearly opened up to him about everything, for he was the only one to sit quietly with her, the only one who had never tried to push her into her old ways or ask her why. He too felt whispers following his footsteps, so perhaps he guessed at the reasons for her own sadness, but it was something they never discussed.

"Goodbye, Ellie." His face retained his near constant serious expression as he used the nickname only he and Robb called her by. Smiles did not come easily to Jon anymore, largely due to the treatment by Elyanna's mother, a part of the reason Elyanna found it hard to be close to her mother. She hoped smiles would return to him, he had such a lovely smile.

After that there was nothing left to do except walk towards the waiting carriage. Jory Cassel, son of the master-at-arms and leader of her escort, held the door open for her. As she paused with one foot on the first step he broke into his charming grin.

"Are you sure you don't want just one more ride through the North?" he jerked his head in the direction of the spare horses prancing and ready to depart.

Elyanna, as always, said nothing. She didn't look back as she stepped into the carriage, and she didn't peer out of the window to wave at her family and friends. She kept her eyes forward, hands folded in her lap, waiting for the carriage to begin taking her to a place she would not be known.

 **AN:**

 **Sorry this chapter is a little dull, was more of a way of showing how Elyanna feels about her different family members and the start of her journey. Most of the first few chapters will be quiet as well because this is from Elyanna's POV and she is quiet.**


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